


Born To Be Yours

by AquaWolfGirl



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Rey, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Because there needs to be more Alpha Rey in here, Ben is a lovesick puppy, F/M, Modern AU, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Ben
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-06-19 05:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15503655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaWolfGirl/pseuds/AquaWolfGirl
Summary: Ben Solo works for JAKKU, one of the leading developers of health and eco-green technology in the US. More specifically, he works for Rey Jackson, as her secretary. Even more specifically, he works for Rey Jackson, undeniable Alpha and one of the most powerful women in New York, if not the country.It's bad enough as it is, working for one of the most beautiful, incredible, and impressive women he's ever met. It gets even worse when his heat surprises him several days early, and in the middle of the work day, no less.I trust you can put it together from there.





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always read A/B/O stories, but never imagined I'd be writing one. Well, here I am. Oops? I had a desperate need for some alpha!Rey. I also had a desperate need for omega!Ben in glasses. And so here we are.   
> If you've read Laundro-Matt, you'll know the format of this one. Quick. Dirty. Simple. Less than 10 chapters. The Rice Krispie treat of stories - crunchy, delicious smut with just enough sweet and sticky plot to hold it together.

Working for JAKKU is, in a word, a dream.

Not only has it been one of the fastest growing tech companies over the past five years, he’s more than proud to say he is part of a company that’s changing the world for the better. They produce the regular tablets, phones, some laptops, as well as a handful of kid-friendly electronics, but they also dedicate their time to medical and eco-technology. In the past three months, Ben’s seen at least five people with JAKKU’s prosthetics out in public, one man’s prosthetic hand grasping a steaming hot much of coffee as well (if not better) than Ben’s own hand would. 

He’s working for the company that created the technology that allows for people to feel the soft fur behind their dog’s ears, the fluff of their cat’s belly again. The company that has created new hearing aids, new wheelchairs, and new crutches that are a fraction of the price of others on the market, and are more usable and more comfortable for the user. And not only that, but a significant portion of their profit is dedicated to distributing it to people in need, both in their country and in other’s. 

He may just be just a small cog in a huge machine, but he’s proud of it. 

And he’s more than proud to be working under Rey Jackson.

“Good morning, Ms. Jackson.”

“Good morning, Ben.” 

The automated water wall parts as soon as she crosses over the motion detector, and he can see her smile as she approaches his reception desk. The water resumes behind her, filling the room with the gentle sound. 

“Did Finn call?” she asks.

“Not yet, no,” Ben replies, watching as she walks towards him, her gaze downwards as she searches for something in her purse. Her other hand holds a cup from the coffee shop downstairs, the cups compostable thanks to her pushing for them to be. Of course, she didn’t have to do much pushing. Alphas never have to do much pushing to get their way. 

“That’s all right, I’ll call him instead,” she explains, her nude heels clicking on the bamboo floor as she walks by his desk. An enigma, a powerhouse wrapped in a coffee-with-cream colored dress, Ben watches her as she retreats into the glass-walled office. “Can you check if Poe’s gotten a hold of Niima? We need to see if they’re willing to produce the custom tires.”

“Yes, miss,” Ben says. It’s all he ever says to her, seemingly. _Good morning. Yes, miss. No, miss._

The office door closes behind her, and Ben watches as she settles into her desk, already reaching for her slim office phone and dialing. Her mouth moves, but he can’t hear her through the thick glass. He’s grateful he can see, though. She crosses her slender legs as she reaches for her tablet, jotting things down as her lips move silently. 

Rey Jackson is perhaps one of the most-

_Ring ring!_

He has to tear his gaze away from the sun that is his boss to scramble for the phone. His large hand knocks it from its perch, and he curses under his breath before he manages to lift it to his ear and accept the call. “Hello, this is Ben Solo for Rey Jackson, what can I do for you today?”

-

Abandoned at a fire station as a child. Adopted by one of the cruelest men ever to exist. Somehow beating the odds and crafting patented technology by the age of 19. By 21, she was flying through some of the best engineering programs in the country, taking courses both online and in person. By 22, she’d already been offered jobs by tech tycoons before deciding to start her own company. JAKKU got off to a rocky start, initially, not making too much money and getting barely any attention by moguls before it shot upwards thanks, in part, to Skywalker Industries. 

He applied for the position of Rey Jackson’s personal secretary out of both admiration for the Alpha woman, and because his uncle handed him the application. While Ben enjoyed working at Skywalker Industries, he enjoys working for JAKKU more, and he especially enjoys working for Rey Jackson. 

“Hey, Ben, I’m going to have to work through lunch. Could you order my regular from Replica and have it delivered?”

“Yes, Miss Jackson.”

“Thank you.” There’s relief in her voice, wrapped up in her British accent, and Ben looks over his shoulder to see her rushing along to the conference room where some of their board is waiting. She walks like an Alpha – shoulders back, head high, chin up, legs long. Power. That’s what Rey Jackson is. Rey Jackson is power. Five foot seven inches of power, sure, but power all the same.

Ben watches her as she walks into the glass-walled conference room, watches as she smiles and greets the other Alphas. Men, most of them, in their expensive suits, and ties, and leather shoes. Her smile is bright enough to dim the sun as she shakes hands and talks with them before taking her own seat at the head of the table. 

The Omega in him aches for a moment, something deep in his chest as he watches her speak, watches her laugh, watches her as she stands and adjusts her dress gracefully before walking to the board showing their progress and new designs.

Of course, it's only natural to be attracted to the most powerful Alpha. Back in the pack days, the more powerful Alpha had the best chance of surviving, the best chance of mating, and their Omegas were taken care of. It's because of biology, he tells himself, that he stares at her in awe and admiration. It's only natural that he should want to be hers out of every other Alpha he knows.

That doesn't mean it's going to happen, no. No, he's pretty damn sure it's never going to happen.

-

The 3:30 slump hits hard and fast, and through the walls of her office Ben can see her sitting with her hand in her hair, the phone to her ear as she talks about something. Whatever it is must be stressful, because she’s running her hand through her roots. When she’s working on a new idea, her hair is often up in three buns. For presentations, she pulls some of it back from her pretty face, tied at the back of her head. Now, though, it flows loosely to her shoulders, a little mussed from her hands as she continues to talk on the phone. 

When he approaches the door, she looks up and waves him in, still talking on the phone. He pushes the door open, a hot tea in his hand as she stares into the open air. 

“I know you can produce those for less,” she says, frowning. “You made us screws two inches longer than that for less. And yes, I know the thread matters, and you’ll have to make them custom, but the others were custom, too.”

She holds her slender hand up, a single finger raised. A moment, she means to say, as Ben stands beside her desk, the cup of tea warming his hand.

Her fingers slip into her chocolate colored hair again, pulling just a little, before releasing, and starting over again. She’s frowning, still, the frown deepening even further as the other person on the line continues to speak. He can’t decipher the mutterings, can’t make out words, but between the discussion of screws and a custom job, Poe’s managed to get a hold of Niima. And Niima wanted to talk to the Rey directly. 

“No,” Rey says simply, grabbing a pen from the cup on her desk and twirling it between her fingers. “No, I am not willing to go that high. The other screws were half that amount. You mean to tell me that you are charging me more for a screw that has more threads, yes, but it is thinner, and it is shorter, and it’s going to be made of the same exact metal? No. No, I will not pay that price, Mr. Plutt. And if you continue to try and sway me for a price that I know is unreasonable, then I know several other manufacturers who would love to have our products on their record.”

Her voice is hard and cool like marble, and Ben watches with a strange sense of pride as she glares at the wall of her office. The pen continues to move between her fingers quickly and nimbly, and Ben’s torn between watching her face or the pen.

He decides to watch her face, and he’s rewarded with seeing her smile just a little bit. “That’s better,” she says, her voice almost a purr. “I know we provide you with a good bit of business, Mr. Plutt. And I know you’d like to keep it. I’m sure we can come up with an agreement regarding the new screws. After all, they are for brand new, top secret technology, so you’re getting the plans before anyone else.” Her voice is sugar sweet, and then she grins. “Yes, I’ll have Poe forward them to you. I hope you have a wonderful rest of the day. Thank you, goodbye.”

The phone is placed back into its cradle with perhaps a little more force than necessary, and then her hand is opening for the tea. Ben quickly obeys, handing her the hot beverage and watching as she sips it, sighing. Her hair looks adorably mussed, the part not quite centered anymore and some pieces higher and lower than others. But it’s endearing, to see the woman look so human for a moment, lithe figure slumped in her office chair as she savors every sip of her green tea. 

The Alpha usually looks so sure of herself, so powerful, so radiant. She’s dimmed a little, in the moment, sure, but she’s no less beautiful as she reaches up to run her hand through her hair in an attempt to tame it. 

“Sorry if I’m intruding, Miss Jackson,” he starts, watching as her amber gaze flicks to him. “But I thought the screws were for the new chair model? Are they for a newer product?”

“No,” she replies, pushing herself back up to a proper sitting position after slouching. “But Plutt’s selfish, and if I tell him it’s for some new top secret technology and he’s one of the very few people who get to see the plans, his ego will inflate and he’ll lower the price. The plans he’ll see are just for the screw itself, of course, but it’ll buy us some time. And cut the price.”

“I see.” He’s seen the man a few times. A large man who wears too-tight suits, whose smile is a bit too leery at the CEO, whose voice is gruff from smoking, as Ben’s seen him doing outside of the building once or twice. While he may not be ideal as a business partner, Niima’s products are some of the best, and they do recycle and use scrap and recovered metal, which is why Rey reached out to them in the first place. 

“Thanks for the tea. You’re a lifesaver.” 

Ben watches as the phone rings before he can even say _you’re welcome _or something of that sorts, her hand darting out for the slim metal receiver. “Hello, this is Rey Jackson speaking.”__

__He leaves her to her work, going back to his desk and settling in to answer and screen as many calls as he can._ _

__-_ _

__He knows his heat is coming up. He has it marked on the little magnetic calendar on his fridge, as well as ‘GET RELIEVERS AND SUPPRESSANTS’ in all caps three days before. He has it in his phone, too, as a reminder that the worst week of the entire year is upon him._ _

__He doesn’t need Hux to remind him._ _

__“Coming up soon, isn’t it?”_ _

__“I don’t like that you know when my heat is,” Ben snaps, looking up at the redhead. Thankfully the small Irish pub is loud enough that it covers the words, only the Beta across from him hearing._ _

__“You begged me to fuck you that one year,” Hux replies simply, his smirk devious._ _

__“Because I forgot to buy the relievers and I was fucking miserable, it was once.” His tone is probably harsher than it should be, but he doesn’t exactly remember that week fondly. He steals a fry from Hux’s basket in retaliation for bringing it up, getting a glare for his actions._ _

__“Still no luck getting an Alpha? You know there are services for that. You don’t have to drug yourself to get through a heat.”_ _

__“I’m not hiring someone,” Ben grumbles, stealing another fry. “I don’t want that.”_ _

__“No, you want your little genius boss to take care of you, isn’t that right?”_ _

__“She’s out of my league.”_ _

__“But you didn’t say you don’t want her.”_ _

__“Because I do want her,” Ben snaps, looking up at the asshole he calls his best friend for some reason and narrowing his eyes. “But if she’s going to go for an Omega, she’s going to go for someone who isn’t her fucking secretary, and she’s going to go for someone like Trooper or Dameron.”_ _

__“Dameron’s an Alpha," Hux says matter-of-factly, reaching for his drink._ _

__“How the hell do you know that?” He sees the start of Hux’s smirk around the lip of the tumbler and steals another fry instead. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”_ _

__“You know, the longer you rely on relievers, the more you have to take,” Hux says, reaching over and stealing one of Ben’s onion rings in retaliation. He raises one ginger brow, looking as though he’s won something._ _

__“I know.” But what other choice does he have? He doesn’t say that out loud, because he knows Hux will suggest one of those services. Not that there’s anything wrong with hiring someone to help him get through his heat, no, but … but he doesn’t want that. Not really. If he’s going to do it with someone, he’d like it to be someone he knows._ _

__Preferably someone who’s better at aftercare than Hux is._ _

__The warm summer breeze tickles his cheeks as he walks back to his apartment. The subway platform is unbearably hot, the rush of air that comes with the train not helping in the slightest, carrying the smell of death and New York City summer with it (which are, in his opinion, damn near the same thing.) There are a few people on the train with him, groups of people talking lowly, a few people dozing after getting off of later shifts. He stands by the door, watching as darkness surrounds the little rocking car. He gets off a handful of stops later, taking the stairs two at a time in an effort to get to his apartment faster._ _

__It’s not a great apartment, no, but it’s his. The key sticks a little in the lock, and he doesn’t have AC in the summer, so he has to run fans, but it’s not too bad. He doesn’t have to share with anyone, and that’s a definite bonus. Especially when his heat comes, and he has to ride it out with only his hand and the relievers._ _

__Ben tosses his keys into the bowl beside the door, making his way into his bedroom. He needs to get those--the relievers. He should probably splurge on some good lube, too, and some condoms for the mess. He’ll need to speak to Rey, say he needs some time off for personal reasons. It’s covered and paid, sure, once he submits his reason, but he doesn’t want to outright tell her that he needs … that he’s going into heat. That he’s an Omega, even though he’s pretty damn sure she already knows despite the cologne he wears that’s supposed to disguise the sweet scent._ _

__Maybe it’s not such a bad idea, to find someone. Maybe not hire, no, but there are matching sites. Paid ones, that are more specific, and then the general ones where he finds a match on his own. It’s not ideal, no, but it could work._ _

__Before he climbs into bed, he downloads one. He doesn’t open it, no, he doesn’t create a profile, not yet, but just knowing he has the option, knowing that it’s there … it’s a relief._ _

__He doubts she’s on there. His luck’s never been that good. But maybe he’ll find someone, at the very least._ _


	2. 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this was overwhelming, holy shit ... I've never had so many comments on a first chapter before. You all are incredible!! I hope this quick second chapter (well, quick for me) is a nice enough reward for being so awesome and sweet and amazing!

He was going to wait. He was going to wait until his paycheck came, because that means he isn’t so behind on budgeting. Insurance covers some, but not all of the suppressors and relievers. The cruel grip of capitalism, Ben supposes, listening to the waiting music of the pharmacy. He can't wait for his paycheck, though, not when _it_ is supposed to come on Thursday.

It’s been a slow morning. Rey’s in meetings for the next few hours, talking with manufacturers and suppliers and investors. With luck, they’ll secure another investor, a philanthropist who seems nice and greeted Ben with a smile and a handshake when he walked in. It’s a promising arrangement so far, and while they make plenty of their own money, it’s always nice to be supported by those who actually give a damn about people other than themselves. 

“Hello, Mr. Solo?” 

“Yes?” 

“Your prescription will be ready to pick up tomorrow after noon.” 

A glance down at the desk calendar – yes, that works, his heat isn’t supposed to come until Thursday. “Perfect, thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome, have a nice day.”

He hangs up as he hears heels clicking. Looking up, he sees Rey walking towards him. The dress she had on the day before was beautiful, sure, but the chocolate-colored leather wrap pencil skirt she’s wearing today makes his mouth practically water. Always neutrals, with her, he thinks, taking in the cream blouse she’s tucked into it, loose and sheer at the sleeves, revealing the darkest of the freckles that dot her arms. 

“I need a green tea, extra honey, extra hot,” she snaps as she strides towards him, and then past him on the way to the bathroom. “And I need it now, please.” Her voice is hard, as pointed and as sharp as the sound of her heels.

For a woman who practically projects Alpha, Rey Jackson rarely acts like a typical one. However, just because it’s rare doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. He can practically smell the pheromones coming off of her, and has to keep his pitiful whimper under control as he says, “Right away, Miss Jackson.”

Someone must have challenged her, he thinks, as he grabs his wallet, and the small black umbrella he keeps in his desk to fight off the early morning rain. Someone in the meeting with their suppliers must have fought her, snapped at her, challenged her territory. As he walks towards the elevator, he tries to think of who’s in the meeting, who walked past him this morning while he was barely awake. Plutt didn’t walk by him, no, he would have smelled him and heard the man’s strange, waddling gait. No, it was someone else. Someone new, perhaps, who has her growling with her hackles up. 

He shouldn’t find it as sexy as he does.

The summer rain smells sweet, for the moment masking the smell of hot trash and old sweat as he makes his way down to the coffee shop in the bottom of their building. He could have gone inside, yes, but he feels warm, and while the AC in the building is just fine, he wanted to get some fresh air. And so he steps out and turns to the left, the umbrella shielding his head from the raindrops as he makes his way around the building. There aren’t many big puddles, not yet, and so he doesn’t have to worry about those as he makes his way towards the little coffee shop. 

Inside is warmer than he’d like it to be, perhaps because of everyone crowded in to escape the rain. He shakes the little umbrella off just outside the door before wrapping it up, and moving to take his place in line. Maybe he’ll get a coffee, something to shake the fog that’s come over him. Reaching up he massages his temples with one hand, pushing his glasses up a little in an attempt to relieve the pressure that’s seemingly increasing with every breath he takes. 

Caffeine, he thinks. He needs caffeine. And maybe some protein. They do have good breakfast sandwiches. Maybe he’ll get one of those. 

There are five people in front of him. 

The pressure in his head gets a little worse, enough that he winces and tries to breathe through the pain. The heat gets worse, as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the AC vents, and when he looks to where the air is flowing, he sees a pile of magazines. The flimsy cover of one of them is lifting up with the air, and he frowns. He can’t feel it, the AC that is, even though he’s standing pretty damn close to the little table. Reaching his hand out would make him look like an idiot, though, and so he just steps a little to the left, trying to seem like he’s peering around the line to see the pastry case. 

Nope. Not any colder. 

There are four people in front of him. 

He can feel sweat on his brow, and just above his upper lip. He’s thankfully wearing a blazer today, in an attempt to impress the investors and visitors coming into the office to meet with Miss Jackson. The dark fabric means the people behind him can’t see the sweat that’s starting to soak under his arms, the rivulets dripping between his shoulders and down the small of his back. 

There are three people in front of him.

This can’t be right. He just checked his calendar this morning, he just called for the prescription. It’s Monday, his heat isn’t supposed to come until Thursday, he already put in the paperwork for his absence, it isn’t supposed to be this early...

There are two men sitting at a table. Businessmen, having a meeting, a black leather folder between them and porcelain cups of black coffee beside them. One reaches up to run his hand through his hair, guiding it out of his face as he continues speaking to his colleague. 

The smell of Alpha hits Ben smack in the face, and he can’t help the way his mouth waters, the way his cock twitches in interest, the way he can feel his body react by starting to prepare-

There are two people in front of him. 

The man’s scent isn’t nearly as nice as Rey’s. Hers is more indulgent, like dark chocolate and caramel. His is bitter, like the black coffee he’s drinking, like leather. 

He doesn’t like the businessman’s scent. He likes Rey’s. He needs Rey's.

There’s only one person in front of him now, but he feels jittery, one hand holding his wallet, moving the cards up and down with his thumb in an attempt to distract himself. His other hand holds the umbrella handle, the nail of his thumb catching in the little ridges of the handle, counting. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven-

“Hello, how can I help you today?”

He doesn’t remember ordering. He thinks he remembers stuttering. He thinks he remembers saying something about honey and green tea, but he doesn’t remember how much it costs, doesn’t remember the barista saying anything else to him. He has to check the receipt as he hurries back to the office, not even bothering to use the umbrella this time, hoping beyond hope that the rain will cool his skin. It doesn’t. 

Green tea, extra honey, extra hot, the receipt says, and he thanks every deity he can think of that he managed to get that right, at least. He takes a sip of his iced coffee, milk but no sugar, in hopes of it cooling him down. He asked for extra ice. It doesn’t help, not one bit. 

The nostrils of an older businessman flare as Ben steps into the elevator. He steadily avoids eye contact with him. The cologne he wears may disguise his scent on a normal basis, but it does jack shit when he’s going onto heat. Which he undoubtedly is. 

It doesn’t make sense. He’s exhibiting all the symptoms. Sweating. Nausea. Headache. Arousal. Itchiness. The feeling of just heat all over, clawing at his skin, a deep need in his bones to … to … 

To do the thing that he absolutely cannot do because hiring someone requires advance notice and he’s certainly not going to go on a matchmaking app and just say, “Hey, I just went into heat, are you free for a week?”

And he’s sure as hell not going to call Hux, either. 

The businessman’s floor comes before his, and the older man rushes past him. Alone in the elevator, Ben allows himself to lean against the cool metal wall, pressing his brow to it as the elevator takes him up, up, up. The metal helps, if only for a moment. He wonders if he gets service in here. Maybe he could take Rey’s calls from in here, just keep his forehead glued to the elevator wall.

The floor for JAKKU comes much sooner than he would have liked, and he practically has to peel himself from the cool metal wall. Walking back to his desk, he wishes desperately he had a fan. Better would be suppressants and relievers. But at least a fan would help ease the heat, the nausea. 

It wouldn’t do shit to help his hardening cock or the slick starting to soak his boxer briefs, but then again, there isn’t much to help with that aside from … well, something he can’t very well do on the clock.

Sitting at his desk will make it worse, of that he's sure. He feels hot, he feels trapped, he feels nauseated, and overall he feels fussy. Incredibly fussy. And itchy.

He wants to take the blazer off, but his dress shirt is soaked through, he’s willing to bet. Taking it off will cool him down, but it will also expose him to the rest of the office. He’s pretty damn sure it’ll be a broadcast to every single Alpha within a three mile radius that he’s here and wanting, as well, and he’d rather not subject himself to more leers and stares than he’s already going to get in the streets, on the train, oh, fuck … 

It’s a cab day. It’s definitely a cab day. 

The water wall at the front of the reception area parts for him as he steps over the motion detector, and he almost wishes he could go around it and just step right through the water. As it is, though, he’s grateful for the fine mist that tickles his face, cools his heated cheeks slightly. 

Through the glass walls of the office he can see Rey speaking to a few of the people who head their manufacturing, who 3D print their designs and who create the nails and screws and bolts, who make Rey’s ideas come to life. Her shoulders are still tense, but her movements are more at ease, her smile more genuine as she speaks and presents to them. 

Even though she isn’t radiating the Alpha energy she was before, just her presence, just the scent of her that lingers in the halls is enough to make his mouth water, and his stomach cramp with need. A pained groan leaves his lips. The damn water wall doesn’t help, the moisture in the air strengthening her scent. 

_Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck fuck…_

Sitting down is, to be honest, disgusting. Everything about this is disgusting. He’s used to his own slick during a heat, yes, sometimes the suppressors don’t suppress that, but he’s used to having towels, used to having packs upon packs of fresh boxer briefs to change, used to being able to hop in the shower at a moment’s notice. Now he just has to grit his teeth and bear the feeling of wet slick as he sits down at his desk. He’s grateful that his pants are black. Maybe he can sneak to the bathroom, figure out something with paper towels and toilet paper to keep him from making a puddle on the brown leather of the chair—

“Oh, Ben, thank you, you’re my hero.”

No. No, no, it can’t be, he’d hoped someone would come up, someone would pass him, he could ask them to deliver the tea for him, no, no, _no!_

The smell of her is like a punch to the gut, every fiber of his being – and his cock, especially – deciding it wants her, and it wants her now. He can see her relieved smile as she comes around the corner, coming closer, and closer, and—

“Thank you so much, I just don’t have the time today to run down and get it,” Rey breathes. Behind her he can see the manufacturing heads leaving. A few Alphas, mainly Betas. Their smell mixes with hers, resulting in bitter-sweet-leather-chocolate-musk-metal-wood-amber-bourbon. He tries in vain not to groan, reaching up to wipe away the sweat that’s gathering under his eyes, pretending to adjust his glasses. 

“You’re welcome.”

Shit. His voice is lower than it usually is, gruffer, more strangled. 

Rey notices. Rey frowns. 

“Are you feeling all right?” A step forward. 

“Have a good afternoon, Miss Jackson,” one of the men says, a Beta, who gives Ben a questioning look but says nothing as he makes his way to the elevators.

“You too, Jim, Poe will be giving you a call either today or tomorrow,” Rey calls, before she takes another step forward. “Are you all right, Ben? If you’re sick, I can have the calls go to my office and I can take them from-“

He can see the exact moment his scent reaches her. He can see her eyes widen, can see the falter in her step, the way her foot tilts ever so slightly in her nude heels. He can see the flare of her nostrils, can see the way her pupils suddenly dilate. 

“Oh, Ben…”

He’s never heard that voice from her. Never, not once in his years of working for her. It’s sweet, damn near a croon, and he can’t help the whimper that’s practically yanked from his throat as he moves to brace his elbow on the desk, to rest his head in his hand. 

“It’s early,” he mutters. “It was supposed to come on Thursday. I don't know why it's early, I already put in the note for my absence, I don't know what's happening..." It starts off as a mumble, but then ends in a pathetic whine. Yeah, great, look even more like an Omega in front of his boss, that's just fucking perfect.

For a few moments, all he can hear is the sound of the water wall. And then-

_Click. Clack. Click. Clack._

There’s a hand in his hair, soft and sweet, manicured fingertips massaging his scalp. His head is already pounding, and so the gentle touch has him moaning, much to his embarrassment. The smell of her surrounds him, and while he could have gotten away with clenching his ass before, now he’s damned sure there’s a puddle beneath him as everything in him thrums like a plucked string. 

“Why don’t you to go the bathroom?” she asks. “See if you can cool yourself down, I can take the calls for a while.”

There’s a purr in her voice he’s never, ever heard before, like a pleased cat. He closes his eyes, fighting the waves of consecutive nausea and pain, trying simultaneously not to cry and not to throw up. 

Fuck, how do people deal with this without suppressors and relievers?!

“It’s all right.” Soft, sweet, kind. Alpha, his Alpha, taking care of him, rewarding him, reassuring him—

No. No, that’s not right, she’s his boss, not his Alpha, and she’s just probably trying to make him feel better because Rey Jackson is one of the sweetest, kindest, most compassionate people he knows. 

When Ben does stand up, it’s not because of her insistence. No, it’s because he’s pretty sure he’s about to be sick. 

He feels the small pain of a strand of hair being pulled from his scalp as he bolts from under her hand. It’s insignificant compared to the stomach pains he’s having, and as soon as he manages to slam himself into a stall, he’s retching. He’s not sick, no, but it feels good to retch, to gag, feels good to sob as he presses his hands against the cool stall walls and tries to get a damn hold of himself. 

It takes several wads of tissue to dry himself to the best of his ability. He can still smell her, though, can still feel her hand in his hair, and because of that, his body’s raring to go. 

He hasn’t had to hide an erection since high school, he thinks. Even his go-to thoughts aren’t working right now, not one bit. And so he hides it as best as he can instead, splashing cold water on his face until he doesn’t feel so damn ill. 

She’s gone when he comes out of the bathroom. His collar and the hair around his face is wet with sink water, but his cheeks still feel heated as he makes his way with shaky legs back to his desk. 

The point of neon Post-Its is that they’re hard to miss. And so the first thing he sees when he manages to collapse into the still-damp chair is the bright pink sticky note on top of what looks to be a piece of Rey’s stationary. One of the cards he orders for her, the cards she writes ‘thank you’s on. Frowning, he picks up the car, seeing her handwriting on the Post-It.

_I’ll talk to Susan. Take the rest of the day off. Hope you feel better soon!_

The little frowny face in the corner makes the corner of his mouth twitch up despite how shitty he feels. 

But … why did she write it on the sticky note, instead of the card itself? That doesn’t make any sense. Unless…

Ben frowns and peels the sticky note off, revealing more her handwriting underneath, on the thick cardstock.

He knows her personal address. Not by heart, no, because most mail is sent to the office, but he recognizes the street, at the very least. The card has her address scrawled on it in her combination of cursive-print letters. The next line, however, is probably why she decided to cover the card with a Post-It, make it look like a piece of important mail instead of what it really is. An invitation. No, not an invitation, this is more than that. This is a proposition. No, not even that. This is an order, from an Alpha. 

And one he is helpless to follow.

_Be here at 7:30. I’ll take care of you._


	3. 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this story has been absolutely ABSURD and I love you all for it. Seriously, you're all incredible, and I've been more inspired to write than I have been in a while because of all your wonderful comments and kudos. I apologize in advance for cockblocking you this chapter, but I'm trying to keep the chapters 2,000-3,000 words so that I can get them out faster (shorter chapter this time means faster chapter next time!)  
> Hope you all enjoy, and if you did, drop a kudo or - even better - a comment!

It is literally agony to wait. As much as he wants to stay and push through the work day, it’s just not possible. 

The subway is hellish on a normal day, crowded with tourists and with people trying to figure out where the fuck they’re going, as well as people who actually do know where the fuck they’re going and just want to be left alone. It's even more hellish today. He sees a few looks, a few heads lift as he slips onto the train. He’s grateful he had the bottle of cologne in his desk to help mask the smell of his heat, but by the looks he’s getting, it’s not helping much. He’s sure the fact he’s sweating bullets isn’t helping either, or the fact that he’s shuddering damn near constantly, feeling as though he’s going through withdrawal from something he’s never actually had. 

He’s incredibly grateful that he doesn’t actually have that many stops, and so he hops off the third and rushes to the next train, his head bowed and hands shoved in his pockets to try to make his bulge a little less obvious. 

“Hey, sweetcheeks! Need someone to take care of that for ya?”

He’s gotten the calls before, but not since college, when he didn’t know the right dose of suppressants and relievers, didn’t know how often he needed to take them, didn’t take them entirely properly. The comments are still as disgusting now as they were then, making him feel even grosser than he already feels as he waits for the next train. 

This one is only one stop, thank God, and he spends the entire ride curled up on one of the seats, his head braced against the plastic. Sanitary? Probably – no, definitely – not, but it grounds him enough to keep him from throwing up all over the train. Though it happens, he knows, he does not want to be one of those people. 

When his stop comes, Ben practically books it down the tiled hallway and up the stairs. The rain’s still coming down, a bit harder now, and he ducks his head further down into his shoulders, his cheeks brushing the dark linen of his blazer. 

The sounds of honking taxies and wheels rolling through puddles creates a cacophony of city chaos as he types his doorcode in, slipping inside and hoping beyond hope nobody’s in the small lobby of his little apartment building. It pays off, and he’ll be forever grateful that the elevator was fixed last week, and that he can ride it instead of climbing up 8 flights of stairs while slick is literally dripping down his legs. 

He braces himself against the elevator wall as it goes up, and up, and up. Whimpers and whines fall from his lips, his cock practically throbbing by the time he stumbles to his door. He doesn’t even bother to lock it again, doesn’t even bother to put his wallet and keys in their place, he just drops the keys on the floor and slams the door shut behind him before rushing into the shower. 

It doesn’t help as much as he’d hoped it would. Sure, it rinses some of the slick off, but even after jerking off once, twice, his cock is still needy, still hard, and his blood still feels like it’s boiling. Even as he stands beneath the ice cold spray, he feels feverish. 

He’s not sure how long the water’s been running. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing beneath it. He’s only sure of how sore everything is, how tense, as he steps from the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. It’s pretty much useless, he knows, he’ll feel disgusting again within moments, but it’s decent for now. 

Ice water doesn’t help. Hell, ice packs don’t even help as he lies on his bed, towels laid beneath him, bare as a babe because he can’t handle even the loosest, thinnest pair of sweatpants he has. He’ll have to get dressed tonight, he knows, because even for New York nudity’s frowned upon. But for now he just lies with his gaze to the ceiling, trying not to lose his mind entirely. 

There are rumors, stories of Omegas going insane because of their heats. A lack of medication, or a lack of a partner, makes their heat all the more intense. It’s why there are organizations to get suppressants and relievers to everyone who needs them, it’s why there are so many apps and websites to match people up when the time comes. He never really understood it, before, being on suppressants for so long, but now he gets it. 

And this is just day one. 

He rolls over, groaning as he reaches for where his phone is charging on the bedside table. He fumbles for it, needing the time, needing to know how long he has to wait until he can show up on his boss’s doorstep, until he can just throw himself at her feet … 

Take care of him. She promised to take care of him. 

He has no idea what the fuck that means, but he hopes she’s better at aftercare than Hux was. He was a good fuck, sure, but cool cloths and Chinese afterwards wasn’t exactly what he needed.

He needed warm hands, he needed words of reassurance, he needed cuddles. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Hux for cuddles, especially not ones where he’s the little spoon and Hux is the big one. That would've resulted in years, and years of teasing. Fuck, even just sleeping with him once has resulted in years of teasing. 

Shuddering, he flips his phone over, groaning as he sees that it’s only 12. 

It’s going to be a long, long day. 

-

Apparently, since he's been given the promise of being taken care of, his body decides it’s ready to go. 

He doesn’t want to know what his water bill will be with how many showers he’s taken, both freezing cold and scalding hot in a vain attempt to rid himself of both the feeling of sickness, and the slick that’s damn near pouring down his thighs in preparation for a knot. 

He’s not going to get one, he knows, unless Rey has one of those … one of those fake ones, the ones that come with the pump, the ones that can be attached to a harness and then pumped up to fullness, filling him, knotting inside of him-

“Fucking hell,” he hisses, looking down as his cock throbs painfully at the image. He’s already jerked off so many times, trying to imagine soft, feminine hands that definitely do not belong to his boss. No, he tries to imagine some nameless, featureless woman so that he doesn’t feel so goddamn disgusting for yanking it to the woman he’s worked for for the past few years, the woman he’s respected for even longer, the woman he desperately wants to please, wants to impress, wants to be with-

A growl more fitting of an Alpha leaves him, his fist hitting the wall so hard pain blossoms up his wrist and through his fingers. It’s not the pleasurable kind of pain, not in the slightest, and so he hisses, any thoughts of sex or knotting or anything of that sort banished as he bites his tongue and cradles his hand. “Fuck…”

No. No, he can’t be with Rey Jackson. It’s impossible, he can’t, they’re just not meant to do this, they can’t-

_Ring ring!_

“Shit!” 

The water’s still running in the other room, slick still coating the inside of his thighs and even down his calves, the towel barely wrapped around his waist as he lunges for his phone. He doesn’t even look at the number, swiping before breathing, “Hello?”

“Kay’s going to pick you up at 7.”

Her voice is lower and softer than he’s ever heard it. He’s not sure what sound he makes. He’s not sure if he even makes a sound, but he must make some sort of acknowledgement, because the sound the Alpha makes on the other end of the line can only be described as a purr. 

“I don’t want you on public transport. Too many other Alphas. I don't want their smell on you,” she tells him. He wonders if she’s home, or if she’s still at her office. If she’s sitting at her desk, her legs crossed in that tight, sexy little pencil skirt, if she’s twirling a pen between her delicate fingers. Or if she’s at home in her luxurious penthouse or townhouse or condo or whathaveyou, a glass of wine cradled in her hand-

A glance at the clock beside his bed tells him it’s about half past 4pm. Too early for red wine, at least for her. And she doesn’t go home until 5 or 6, depending, and so she’s probably still at the office.

The image of her speaking to him like this from the sleek desk, from the entirely open office makes him much, much harder than it should. And then, of course, there’s the image of her taking him on that desk, spreading him open with her fingers, fucking him with that skirt hiked up or taken off entirely, blouse open, revealing a modest, plain bra because he can’t imagine her being spendy on something that isn’t seen-

“How bad is it?”

Her voice is still soft, but the sultry purr has switched over to something sweeter, something more concerned. He sits on the towel, grimacing at the dampness, between the water and his slick. Great, he’s going to have to pay for laundry, too…

“Fucking awful,” he admits, reaching up to run a hand down his face. His hair’s still wet, water droplets carving paths down his nose and along his cheeks. “It feels like I’m burning from the inside out, everything aches, everything’s sore, I’m itching all over, and… and … “ And his damn cock won’t behave, but that’s not something he wants to say to her, even if she’s going to ‘take care of him’ less than four hours from then. 

“Do you think you can wait until 7?”

“No.” It comes from his lips before he can stop it, but if he’s entirely honest, he’s not sure he can, not when he feels this sick, not when everything hurts and he honest to God feels like he’s dying… how do people do this without drugs?

He knows they get worse every year he takes them, he knows it’s just putting a patch on a leak that will need to be fixed properly, he knows it’s just hitting the snooze. It’s stopping his biology, and at his age, he should be actively looking for someone to Mate with. 

Later, he thinks, closing his eyes and trying to stave off the wave of nausea that comes on now that he’s out of the cold water of the shower. 

“You’ll wait until 6. Kay will pick you up. I’ll take care of you.”

“Yes, Miss Jackson.” He hates that it’s a needy gasp, he hates how relieved he sounds. He looks at the clock. 4:36. An hour and a half. He can … he can make it an hour and a half. He can. 

“You can do it.” Her voice is a gentle croon. “You can wait for me.”

It’s like listening to velvet, like being wrapped up in the warmest blanket, like putting his hands near a fire. Comfort. Warmth. The itchiness, the nausea, the aches, everything seems just a little less godawful for a moment as Ben nods, too tired to realize that she can’t see him before he realizes and says, “Yes, miss.”

“Good.” The simple word should not make every nerve in his body buzz as much as it should.

There’s no ‘goodbye’. There’s no ‘see you then’. There’s just a click, and then silence, as he listens to the water running in the other room, still ice-cold as he stares at the floor with his phone in his hand. 

-

Kay Del has been Rey’s driver for the past three years, now. When she isn’t driving Rey around, she’s attending classes at a nearby technical school, learning what she can to become one of JAKKU’s engineers. Ben’s interacted with the young woman a few times before, but doesn’t know her entirely that well. And so he’s not sure what to expect when he comes out of his building, wrapped up in black sweatpants and a hoodie, the jersey hood pulled up to cover his still-damp hair from the summer rain that’s coming down hard, now. 

“She told me,” Kay says, holding an umbrella out over his head. 

“Don’t,” he mutters, perhaps a bit more shortly than he meant to. “It … it feels good. The rain.”

“I’m a Beta, and I can smell you.” She sounds sorry for him. He's not sure how he feels about being pitied for this.

“Been on blockers for the past few years,” Ben mumbles as she opens the door. He slides into the back, taking note of the towels to protect the leather seats from forever smelling like the slick leaking through his sweatpants. 

She must know what he meant by the blockers, he guesses, either that or she’s polite enough not to ask him further as she slips into the driver’s seat. She does, however, tell him that there’s a separate AC vent in the backseat, and he can adjust it however he sees fit. 

He thanks God and every other deity he can imagine for Kay Del and for the towels and for the separate AC as he blasts it, pulling the damp hood down from his head and looking out at the city lights as they pass by, their colors reflected in the raindrops on the glass. His head hurts like hell, now, his mouth dry and pasty. He’s shivering and shuddering more often than he’s still, and although he found an old suppressant in some bag he took on a weekend trip home from college, he didn’t take it. 

Because as shitty as he feels, he doesn’t know what taking it would do, at this point. He doesn’t know if it would be rendered fucking useless, or if it would make him not want … not want to do what he’s doing, anymore. And he definitely doesn’t want to arrive at his Alpha boss’s house just to go, “Sorry, not feeling it anymore.” 

Especially not when it’s Rey.

He tries to distract himself by imagining how her home will be. Warm, he thinks. Warm browns. Plants, probably. She likes plants. She loves flowers, in particular, and somehow makes birthday bouquets last longer than anyone he knows. 

Trying to imagine the space he’ll be walking into doesn’t help much. His head is still pounding as he rests it against the cool glass window, closing his eyes and trying to even his breathing so that he won’t be sick. That’s another bill he really, really doesn’t want to pay for.

It takes too damn long to get there. Then again, it was probably not that long – the way he feels just makes it seem longer. Soon Kay's pulling up to a white townhome near Central Park. Of course Rey’d have a townhome near Central Park, he thinks. The woman loves green, loves to take walks to get new ideas, loves being in nature. She didn’t get much of it in the city where she lived as a child, she told him once. Her foster father didn’t let her get outside much, either, and so he can believe that she found a place near Central Park just to experience as much green as she can in this sinful city. 

This time tomorrow, he’s willing to bet it’ll be gorgeous. Hell, it already is gorgeous, what he can see of it through the rain and the dark. The white façade with black-framed windows is more Rey than some of the more modern townhouses he’s seen in the Chelsea district. For as cutting-edge and modern as JAKKU is, the woman running the company likes her old world charm. 

Warm, gold-toned light filters through the windows, and he steps out, not even waiting for Kay to open the door for him. 

His boss isn’t patient either, apparently, because he can see the dark wood door open as he steps out into the rain. It’s a bit heavier on this side of the city, soaking through his hoodie and plastering his hair to his brow. The water helps him focus though – important, considering there are several steps up to her townhouse, and he would hate to trip and land face-first at this point. He just barely hears the slick sound of tires on wet asphalt as Kay drives away, his attention entirely on the woman standing in the doorway. Golden light surrounds her like a goddamn halo, and he’s breathless at the sight of her. She’s changed out of her work clothes, her slender body now wrapped up in a pale pink silk dressing gown, her arms crossed as she waits for him to climb the flight of stairs up to the front door. He’s seen her legs before, seen them peeking out from under skirts and dresses, but somehow seeing them now, the pink silk of the dressing gown reaching mid-thigh, makes his mouth water more than he can ever remember. 

Ah, right. Heat. 

“This is probably against company policy.”

He cringes inwardly, so hard it’s almost painful as the damning words leave his lips. 

The Alpha just looks up at him, though, her hair still pulled back in the half-up, half-down style she wears for meetings, her lips stained pink. Fuck, he can smell her, can smell how strongly her Alpha scent is reacting to his Omega scent. She wants this, too, if only from a biology standpoint. 

“There’s nothing against one employee helping another through a Heat," she says.

Well, no, he didn’t read about anything of that exact nature in the company handbook when he first started working at JAKKU, but he’s pretty sure there are rules against … well, whatever this is, between people so far divided in rank. 

“Besides,” Rey continues, and shit, have her eyes always had that gold-green tint? He doesn’t remember it, but then again, he doesn’t remember her smelling this good, either. Good, sure, but not this good. “I own the company. I can do whatever I damn well want.”

Whatever she damn well wants apparently involves grabbing the front of his soaked hoodie and pulling him inside. It apparently also involves kissing him while the door is still open, the gentle sound of rain behind him as her lips find his. 

Vaguely, beneath the rushing, free-falling feeling that comes with finally, finally giving his body what it wants, he thinks this is wrong. His heart shouldn’t be beating this quickly, and it certainly shouldn’t be almost pressing out of his chest as though to join hers. 

Her fingers, warm and small and oh-so-soft, finds the zipper to his hoodie, pulling it down just enough to slip her hand inside. He didn’t bother with a shirt, figured it was one more layer to deal with, figured it wasn’t worth the time and effort. He’s rewarded for his decision, now, her perfectly manicured nails scraping just against his left nipple. A violent shudder practically rips through him, a sharp inhale as her lips brush his again. 

“Let me take care of you,” she whispers, breath hot against his mouth as her hand presses flat to his pec. Warm. Warm, warm, perfect, Alpha, yes, yes-

“Yes.”


	4. 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I write dirty, detailed, graphic smut. And sometimes my mind leans towards the softer, sweeter, more descriptive smut. I thought this would be a story where I went into detail, but I guess not? Oh, well! I'm crossing my fingers you all like this one, anyway!

His boss’s fingertips are like lit matches against his skin. Her nails scrape against his flesh, leaving burning marks in their wake.

Vaguely, he’s aware of the lack of rain behind them. Vaguely, he can feel that his chest is cooler. His hoodie is gone. There are small, slender hands feeling up his pecs, up his shoulders into his hair, curled from the rain. His chest still burns, and now his scalp burns as well, her nails claiming there as hers, too.

She says something about hiding. She says something about muscles, about working out, but the words scramble themselves in his head. He’s completely and utterly occupied by the taste of her upon his lips. Much to his embarrassment, a whine leaves his lips as she pulls away, and damn near immediately he’s licking his lips, chasing the taste. No, no, please, come back—

“I’m here, sweet boy. I’m here.”

Her lips burn against his as she presses to him for just a moment. It’s terrifying, the emptiness he feels when she pulls back, but then she’s taking his hands and guiding him up the stairs. She sayss something about a shower. There’s mention of a tub. The words drift in his mind as though weightless, a puzzle in zero gravity he has no hope of putting together. He can only stare at her perfect ass, barely concealed by the robe she’s wearing. It clings to her skin. She’s not wearing underwear.

The heat is getting worse. The marks she carved into his chest are still burning. When he looks down, there are faint pink lines. Something so pale shouldn’t be burning so terribly and so beautifully.

His pants are gone. The cool bedsheets, made of silk, would normally be smooth to the touch but feel like sandpaper against his skin. Anything that isn’t her hurts, and he whines again as she guides him down to the bed.

“Sh, sh...” Her touch is sweet, soft, as she pushes his sweaty hair from his brow. She looks like an angel, haloed by the warm, golden light of the lamp on her dresser. “It’s all right, I’m going to take care of you, all right?”

Words have left him. He’s not sure they’re ever going to come back. He nods, watching as she drops the robe.

Freckles and moles and a few scars are scattered like constellations against her bare skin. He knows some of them. Some of them are visible through the sheer sleeves of some of her blouses. Sometimes, in the summer, she wears off the shoulder things, or sleeveless things, because she’s the boss and she can wear whatever she damn well pleases. He knows the scattering of moles on her collarbone that form something like the Little Dipper. He knows the collection on her shoulder from some off-the-shoulder blouse that reminded him of cold Coca-Cola and old gas pumps and red lipstick. He knows some of these marks, and he’s eager to know the rest, eager to memorize his Alpha, eager to worship her and kiss every one, _Alpha_ , _his_ _Alpha…_

Her lips burn against his again, her hand slipping into his hair. “Let me take the edge off, and then we’ll give you a knot later, hm?” she says, her breath hot against his mouth.

It will have to be simulated. It will have to be some sort of toy, some sort of strap on, some sort of plastic or silicone or whatever cock that expands at her control. There are ones with pumps, ones with knots already molded onto the model, ones that are controlled by app so that the Alpha can sit across the fucking globe and claim their Omega and listen to their moans and pants and pleasured sighs.

A knot sounds fucking fantastic, but really, anything she’d give him would be fantastic. As it is, she’s giving him kisses and touching his sore cock and shushing him gently when he whines out of pleasure and pain. Her teeth find his jaw. Her tongue soothes the mark she sucks into his skin. Marking him. Claiming him. **Her Omega** , at least for a little while.

Her hand feels so much better than his. She knows just how to milk him, knows just how to coax a release from him in a way that it’s almost – almost – satisfying. Her words of encouragement float in his head, sounding almost muffled, like she’s calling to him from her office and he’s sitting at his desk. It doesn’t take long, a few strokes at most, before he’s releasing with a choked sob across her hand.

“That’s it, darling.” It’s sweet, but not saccharine. She shushes him, her clean hand stroking his hair as she brings the cum-covered one to her mouth. “It’s okay, you’re all right…”

She tastes him. He’s too far gone to tell what her expression is, everything is warm and hazy and far away now that his body is acknowledging that yes, he has an Alpha, yes, he’s being taken care of. But he can feel the dampness of her skin as that same hand presses to his ribs. It’s not sticky. It’s just damp. She licked it all.

Female Alphas don’t have knots, no. That’s why the simulated ones are made. That’s why disposable ones are available at damn near every drugstore. That’s why lingerie companies set out harnesses with their lacy, frilly bras. Female Alphas have something else, though, and even through the haze, Ben can’t fucking wait.

She’s tight already, sinking down on him expertly. Slick and tight and he groans, his hands fisting in the sheets at his side. Silk is hard to grasp. It slips through his fingers. A hangnail catches, making a run in the luxurious fabric.

“Sh, sh…” she repeats, reaching for his hands. Her slender fingers don’t wrap fully around his wrists. Her mouth is parted in pleasure as she guides his hands to her hips. It’s not to guide her, no, she knows what she’s doing, she’s an Alpha, for fuck's sake. It’s for closeness, he knows. It’s for him to feel her. It’s for him to have some sort of ground on reality as he stares up at her in complete and utter awe. He’s never seen her breasts before. He falls in love with them damn near immediately, her nipples brown-pink-perfect and small. He wants to taste them. Later. That will come later, on the last day, if he's lucky. He'll worship her when he's sane enough to do it properly.

“Let me help you take the edge off.” It’s purred. Her hand slips into his hair, tugging his head back. The mark she bit into him is hot and pulsing. Her thumb finds it, pressing down upon it. He gasps. She groans.

Her hips move. Her hands move. Her lips move as well, but not against his. Words of encouragement, of reassurance, of affection spill from them. These are the same lips that silent asshole investors. These are the same lips that bid him good morning every day. These are the same lips that he’s admired for years because of the words they’ve spoken. Now he wants to worship them. He hopes he'll be given the chance to.

The closer she is to release, the tighter she gets. Once she releases, she’ll clamp down like a vice. Keeping him in, establishing dominance in the way Alphas have always done. Omegas can’t pull out until the Alpha is done, and Omegas can’t pull off until the Alpha is done.

He has no complaints.

Her words are too soft, too sweet for the way her cunt clenches around him. There’s a deep, burning satisfaction in the way the words break, in the way she gasps as he weakly tries to match her pace. It’s not the Omega’s place to make marks, but he holds her hips hard enough to bruise. Her hands leave his hair and the sheets beside his head to grab onto his wrists instead, holding him there. Encouraging him. Tighter. Harder. Yes, bruise her…

The first release was the sip of water after filling the glass too much. Enough that he won’t spill, that he won’t ruin himself. The second is the gulp at three in the morning, sweeter than anything else in the world and one of the best things he’s ever experienced. He comes with a shout, his hands bruising her hips, fingers pressing tight as she cries out as well.

“That’s it, yes, there we go, darling, that’s it, yes!”

Her chest is pressed to his as she leans forward to kiss him. He’s still coming inside of her. She’s clenched like a vice around him, damn near painfully. They should have done this with her below him. She’ll need to support herself, now. It’s a stretch just to have her leaning down to kiss him, her nipples brushing his pecs as she kisses him deeply and filthily.

His hair is a sweaty, sticky mess. She runs her hand through it as best as she can. What was once filthy and open and messy becomes sweeter. Her lips close a little, becoming more and more chaste before she’s kissing just his lower lip, sharing breath with him.

“This is just the beginning,” she promises. He can taste her smile. Her hand tightens in his hair briefly before her fingers start to massage his scalp. “I’m going to take care of you, sweet boy.”

The haze is starting to lift. He can see the flecks of green and gold in her eyes. He can count the freckles upon her cheeks. He can see where the makeup she wore that day has smudged, her eyeliner no longer so sharp and her mascara staining under her eyes. She’s so fucking beautiful.

His hands loosen on her hips, instead cupping her thigh and the small of her back. He doesn’t know whether he has the permission to do that, but she doesn’t say no as his fingers trace circles on the soft skin right above her ass. She’s still clenched around him. Like knots, it will take a while before she loosens up. And no doubt while they wait for her to be ready again, he’ll take a knot.

A cycle, and one more perfect than he could ever imagine.

Unless—

“You are protected, right?” he blurts, his first words to her since they started this, his eyes widening. He’s still releasing. It makes no difference, now. There’s no pleasure from it, it’s not taking off the edge at all. He still feels hot, he still feels needy, but now there’s panic, too.

He’s used to her laughter, sweet and gentle. He’s not used to her snorting in laughter, isn’t used to the way her eyes narrow and her nose scrunches up, isn’t used to the way she laughs so hard her breasts bounce against his chest and she shifts against his cock. A kiss is pressed to his lips once more, as though chastising him.

“Yes,” she says, her fingers running through his hair as best as she can. “I’m protected. Just relax, Ben.”

The heat is still there. The haze hasn’t entirely left. There’s still pressure in the base of his spine, so much of it it’s damn near painful. But he says nothing, letting the woman he’s admired for so many years keep kissing him as her fingers mark his scalp.

-

The water in the shower is cool. His Heat becoming harder to ignore, now, his hardened cock eager for the next round, but Rey had insisted. She explained something about how it’s better to bathe in between rounds than wait until the end, because by the end things are sticking together and it’s harder to get off. It made sense, when she first started running the water, standing beside the rain shower and holding her hand beneath it to make sure it’s cool, but not cold. Now, as he stands underneath of it with a painfully hard cock and hips damn near rutting into the air, he wishes it didn’t make so much sense.

“It’s okay,” she promises. Her hand is hot compared to the cool water. She grasps him, stroking slowly and milking pitiful whines from him. Her lips find the hollow of his collarbone, her breasts pressed to his chest and his cock against her stomach. “It’s okay, you’re all right…”

He’s too tall to fuck between her thighs. She lets him rut against her ass, though, lets him cum across the small of her back. He watches it go down the drain, watches as she washes her skin of sweat and cum and spit and everything that comes with a Heat, and then there's a washcloth pressed to his chest. Her hands are gentle and kind. There’s no tasting of release this time, but she does kiss him, whispering that he’s doing so well, that she’s going to reward him…

The first few rounds are not for teasing, or for play. No, that’s common knowledge in their world, unless the Alpha is particularly cruel and dominant. The first few rounds are for easing the pain, the heat, the tension, the pressure. The play, the pleasure comes later. For now, she’s just trying to bring him back to Earth with gentle touches and even gentler words. 

She speaks of food, of water. There’s ice in the water glass she hands him. The silk sheets have been changed out for soft cotton ones. He gulps down the water as she lingers behind him, her hands massaging his shoulders and roaming down the pale expanse of his back. Her touch isn’t quite so burning, now. It feels more like a hot coffee mug that’s just on the edge of painful, but not quite yet.

“Come on, sweet boy,” she whispers, guiding him onto his back once more.

This time, she doesn’t clench around him. Her hands find his chest, rolling her hips slowly as though to ease his orgasm out of him. It doesn’t take much. Even after he comes a third time, she rolls, keeping eye contact with him. Her hair is mussed. Her cheeks and neck and chest are flushed. Her makeup is gone, now, and he can see a slightly red spot on the edge of her jaw. He can see the dark circles under her eyes. She’s no less beautiful, his boss, his _Alpha._

The haze isn’t quite so heavy. Before, his own moans and groans of pleasure drowned out her soft mewls and sighs. There’s no doubt she found her own release, before, considering she clenched around him, but he’s more in tune with her now. His hands find where his fingers pressed into her skin, and rather than pressing and holding and squeezing this time, he strokes the soft flesh. Her smile is even softer, and there’s a fleeting thought of _how many Omegas have seen that smile?_ She’s a woman of power, of wealth, of beauty, she could have any damn Omega she pleases… and she knows what she’s doing, that much is obvious.

He’s not alone. She’s pleasured Omegas before. He counts himself lucky to be one of them.

He releases twice inside of her. Once is early enough that his cheeks and ears flush, and she notices. “It’s all right,” she says, her voice a coy purr as she reaches down to press her thumb against the hickey on his jaw. “I expected it.”

The second is later, mere moments before she cries out and shudders against him. His hand is on her ribs. He shifts it to her neck as she leans over him, feeling her quick pulse and wondering if his is just as fast. He’s willing to bet it is, if not faster.

She doesn’t guide him towards the shower, this time. She’s not clenched to him, not stuck around him. But she stays anyway, her hands kind against his chest and lips sweet against his. 

“Who would have thought?” she asks, her hand slipping up and into his still-damp hair.

“Hm?” he asks. The haze still lingers, wet and warm and perfect, even though there’s still pressure against his lower back. There’s still tension. His heat isn’t over yet, no, far from. There are days left, still. But it’s better. Fuck, it’s so much better…

“That shy Mr. Solo would be such a good little Omega.”   
  
His needy, submissive whine is muffled by her lips as she kisses him, his cock still inside her and heart more hers than ever.


	5. 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I planned on this story being my most explicit ever. And it still kind of is. But if you were expecting graphic... then honestly so was I, and yet it didn't turn out that way. Because I am too damn soft for these two beautiful people and so it came out a hell of a lot more lovely and vague than I was originally planning. But you know what? I'm not mad at it. And neither are the four people I sent it to out of a panic that it wasn't hot enough.  
> So I apologize if you came here just for PWP. Because there is a fairly decent amount of softness and feels in here. Oops?

The thing about trying to sleep during a Heat is that it’s damn near impossible. It’s necessary, yes, because the Heat already comes with delirium and to go without sleep would be inviting even more terrible thoughts in. But it’s difficult.

With suppressors, his sleep is dreamless. It’s black, completely and utterly. It’s not bad, but it’s not particularly great, either. He goes to sleep and he wakes up feeling somewhat rested, but not entirely.

When he’s in Heat, though, his sleep is restless at best. He wakes up painfully hard until Rey’s there, coaxing another orgasm from him with kind words. She shakes him awake sometimes, guiding him to sit up just enough that she can pour ice cold water down his throat. She guides him off of the bed at least three times in the night to change the sheets, the cotton soaked with his sweat. Every time, she guides him back with gentle hands and even gentler kisses. He goes from shivering with chill to sweating and tossing everything off, whining at the lack of relief. He doesn’t want to see the circles under his eyes by the time morning comes, the light coming in through the blinds before Rey’s getting up to close the black out shades.

He watches the smooth line of her back, seeing a small scar near the top of her right cheek that he didn’t notice before. There are other scars, too, small circular ones that look like his own on his shoulders and his back from a careful dermatologist. Scars that come with being a child, scars that come from being pale and marked with moles, scars that come from being human.

It’s a rare moment that he feels actually comfortable, the sheet draped over his waist as she comes back. Her brow is furrowed. She’s worried. For half of a moment, he doesn’t see Alpha, he sees Rey.

“How are you feeling?” Her hand is cool against his cheek. He closes his eyes.

“Like shit.” His voice is gravely and low.

There are lips upon his brow, kind and sweet. “You’ve been on suppressants for years, if it hit you this hard and fast…”

“Didn’t feel right doing those apps. Wanted someone I could trust.” He leans into her touch as she rubs her thumb under his eyes. He can feel the bags, can feel how dry and tired they are. Everything aches for her, for a knot. The pressure in his lower back hasn’t eased at all.

Her lips find his. She hasn’t brushed her teeth yet, but then again, neither has he, and he’s willing to bet he doesn’t smell fantastic either with how much he sweat in the night. But she’s calm and patient, and she sighs against his lips, holding him close.

“I’m going to take care of you,” she promises again, moving to kiss at his neck. “Mmm, you smell so fucking good…”

“Like stale sweat?” Ben quips, raising a dark brow.

Her smirk is absolutely sinful as she leans up to kiss him again. “Like Omega,” she purrs. “You’re going to get in the shower. Don’t you dare touch yourself. While you’re cleaning off, I’m going to get everything ready, hm?”

Ready. Get everything ready. She doesn’t say so explicitly, but he knows exactly what she means. A knot. He’s going to get a knot, finally, and he feels himself leak a little at the thought. He watches her eyes widen at the sudden scent, and then she’s grinning like the beast she is, leaning in to kiss him hard.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Rey groans, and he damn near whimpers as she nips and sucks on his lower lip. “So eager, so sweet…”

A whine is pulled from him, and he can feel her smile against his lips as she kisses him once more. “Go shower, sweet thing,” she whispers. “Before you’re stuck here forever.”

Stuck there forever doesn’t sound so bad, but as he moves the sheets, he can smell just how much he sweat during the night. His nose wrinkles as he makes his way to the bathroom, feeling eyes on him the entire time.

Cold water doesn’t help. Hot water doesn’t help, either, but it soothes his sore muscles. This… this is good. Hux wasn’t like this. Hux helped, sure, but Hux didn’t tell him to get up and shower. Hux didn’t wake him up to make sure he stayed hydrated. Hux didn’t take care of him, he simply fucked him. And sure, it was fine, but this… this is so much better.

With using her products comes the side effect of smelling like her, and he’s practically purring with satisfaction as he comes out of the shower. The smell of bacon hits him in the face, and his mouth waters as he sees the strips of it on a plate, accompanied by toast, some eggs, and some fruit. His stomach cramps almost painfully at the sight and smell of food. How long has it been since he’s eaten? Rey’s been great at making him drink, but he doesn’t recall eating anything.

On one side of the bed, near the headboard is the tray of food. On the other side, near the bottom of it, are beautiful, magnificent things. He can see the clear silicone knotting toy, the black harness that it goes into. There’s a bottle of lube, even though he’s pretty damn sure he won’t need it with how slick he is. There are other things, too. A gag, some soft-looking restraints, a cock ring of black silicone…

There are hands on his shoulders, massaging sweetly. “Those will come much later,” she promises. He feels her hands slip down his back, coming around his sides to press against his abs. “First things first, you’re going to eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

Everything tastes just slightly off. Like when he’s sick, and things don’t taste as they should. There’s a bitter, burned taste to everything, despite him knowing that it’s a strawberry, it can’t possibly be burned. When he expresses this to Rey, she nods.

“That’s the Heat,” she explains. “It’s trying to put mating above everything, even eating.”

Great. There’s a reason he took suppressors.

But if he took the suppressors, he wouldn’t have Rey rubbing at his shoulder, kissing at his shoulder, nuzzling at his shoulder…

“I already smell like you,” he teases as she rubs her cheek on his shoulder.

“You smell like my shampoo,” she explains, taking the now empty plate off of his lap and setting it on the nearby bedside table. She crawls into his lap, her arms around his neck and fingers slipping up into his damp hair. “You don’t smell like me.”

The moment she’s sliding into his lap, he feels that pressure again, that need. His hands find the soft skin of her waist, and he moans as she kisses him hard. Her teeth find his lower lip, and a guttural groan is pulled from him as she grinds against his cock through the towel he’s still wearing.

“Rey-“

“Such sweet sounds,” she purrs, massaging his scalp and coaxing out a whimper. “Can’t wait to hear you as I fuck you…”

The knotting toy itself looks normal, for now. He can see the clear tube inside, can see the way it comes out of the side of the toy. It’s high quality. It’s expensive. She’s done this before.

But then again, he knew that, didn’t he?

There are hands roaming along his bare shoulders, the few water droplets clinging to her fingers. He shivers as the cool air of her room finds his damp skin, but she takes it as a shiver of pleasure, of satisfaction…

“Smelled you sometimes when I came in.” Her voice is low as her lips find the hollow beneath his ear and along his jaw, where his gland is. “Knew you were an Omega, never though I’d have you, though…”

He whimpers, clinging to the woman he never thought he’d ever have a chance with. She drags her teeth against his gland, but doesn’t bite. This isn’t Mating, no, but he’s not entirely sure it’s casual either. Still, he’ll consider the ramifications of this interaction later. For now, the pressure in his lower back is starting to become unbearable.

“Rey,” he groans. “Need you…”

“All right, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. He likes being her sweetheart, he thinks, as she guides him onto his hands and knees. His arms shake, his body too exhausted and struck with the Heat to hold itself up, so he uses them as a pillow instead. His ass is still in the air, and if logic was prevailing instead of the Heat, he’d be fucking mortified for how exposed he is to his boss. But as she touches the back of his right thigh, fingers gentle and sweet, all he can do is groan at the slight touch.

“So gorgeous,” she says, barely audible over his own harsh breaths. He’s impatient, his body oozing slick in preparation. Her hand slips from his thigh to his back, rubbing ever so gently. “Sh, it’s okay, deep breaths for me…”

She’s good. She’s so good. He damn near cries at how good she is as she insists upon prepping him, insists upon taking care of both him, and his Heat. Because there’s apparently a difference.

He does cry as she pushes the toy in. He’s not sure whether it’s attached to a harness, or whether she’s holding it. His body’s just so relieved that a sob leaves his chest, loud and broken. Immediately she stops, the toy halfway in and her hands on his back again.

“It’s all right.” Her tone is soothing and sweet and everything he didn’t know he wanted, and certainly didn’t know he needed. “It’s all right, I have you. Just let go, relax, it’s okay, I have you, sweet thing.”

Sweet thing. Sweetheart. So many pet names. So many tender things. There’s a darker side, something vile inside of him that demands what he did to earn those names, but that little voice is quickly silenced by the gentle kisses to his lower back and ass. Then there’s a bit of teeth, and he gasps, his hands fisting in the sweat-and-slick-stained sheets.

Teeth in his gland means that he is hers, now and forever. No, they’re not there, and he doubts they’ll ever be because she’s a goddess and he’s a mere mortal and she belongs in a palace in the clouds and he needs to be content with his two feet on the gum-and-tobacco stained sidewalks of Manhattan. But she marks him as hers in other ways, with the toy in his ass and her teeth on his lower back, biting at the tender skin. Everything feels like it’s on fire. Everything feels like it’s pulsing. He’s overwhelmed with it, with her, but her gentle shushing sounds guide him through the heat of his Heat.

“You’re all right,” Rey reassures him. She goes from biting him to kissing the marks, soothing. “You’re all right, I have you, let go…”

And let go he does.

The moment he releases, he knows he’s going to make a fucking mess of himself. And he wonders if she likes that, or if she thinks he’s disgusting for coming all over her sheets, a puddle of slick between his knees. The knot slides in easily, and with it comes the feeling of satisfaction, of relief. That itch that he’s been trying to scratch is finally scratched, feeling like when a tight joint finally pops. Except instead of loosening, there’s the distinct feeling of tightening in the best way possible.

“Fucking hell, Ben…”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, his face pressed against her pillow. He’s drooling, too. Great. One big puddle of loose muscles and tears and sweat and slick and spit. So attractive, he thinks, worry nagging at him through the waves of relief. “I’m so sorry, Rey—“

“Shush.” There are hands in his hair. She’s moving in such a way that he can tell that the knot isn’t in the harness. And perhaps that’s for the best, because she can move to lie next to him, she can turn his face towards hers and tilt him up for a kiss.

He’s a goddamn mess, and she’s kissing him anyways. Her hands are in his hair, cradling him, and between the relief he feels from finally getting a knot, and the relief he feels that she isn’t disgusted with him, he sobs again. It’s loud and damn near violent against her perfect lips, and then she’s shushing him once more to calm him down.

“What’s going on?” she asks, pushing his hair back from his face. “What’s going on, sweet thing, why are you crying?”

“Made a mess.” The words are choked as they slip from his lips. She peppers his face in kisses, her lips finding his brow and his nose and his temples. “Feels so good, but fuck me, I’m-“

“Showers and washing machines exist for a reason,” Rey insists, and he knows that he’s loved her for years, but in this moment he thinks he could slip up and say it. Despite the knot in his ass and the slick and release between his knees, her smile is sweet. “It’s okay, Ben. It’s okay.”

Later, when they’re tangled together once more in the steamy haven that is her shower, she will breathe against his lips that seeing him so wrecked was one of the hottest things she’s ever seen. She will tell him that the amount of mess he made filled a fantasy she’s had for a long time.

But for now, she strokes his hair and rubs his back and waits for his body to release the knot.

“What would you say to being pegged?” It’s whispered against his lips, her hand still in his hair and fingers massaging his scalp gently. The contrast between her touch and the heat of her words makes him shudder almost violently with pleasure.

_Yes._

He’s not sure if he says it, or if it comes out as a word at all, but she takes whatever sound he made as his consent, and that’s exactly what he wanted.


End file.
